The Bridegroom of the Lindorm Prince
by IDespiseTragedy
Summary: Since Sweden wouldn't go all the way, the sexually curious Finland let his imagination run wild using the plot of a Swedish legend he stumbled upon. Um, dragon and yaoi goodness ahoy?


Credit: Thank you so much _kiniro no hana_ & for _Solitary Solid_ beta reading

Disclaimer: Neither _Hetalia_ nor the Swedish legend of _The Lindorm King's Bride_ is mine

Warning: Although this semi-AU fic contains NO sexual brutality, it may still prove disturbing to some readers owing to its **male-to-male zoophilia** and insane amount of mushy fluff

Summary: Sexually frustrated because Sweden wouldn't go all the way, Finland fantasizes how his first time should take place based on the plot of a Swedish legend.

Author's Notes: This fic is a present for _mallorymichael_

My apologies for the anachronism: _The Lindorm King's Bride_ is a folklore existing from the nineteenth-century onwards, while the arrival of Finland in Sweden's house is supposed to take place centuries earlier in reality. Furthermore, Sweden appears bespectacled in the canon series even in historic times prior to the invention of glasses.

Although the character interactions are written in Elizabethan English in the later part of this fic, it does _not_ mean that the story takes place in the sixteenth-century England. Instead, its setting is early medieval Sweden.

"Thou, thee, thy, thine" are used to address family, subordinates, close friends, any person one is insulting, animals other than horses, inanimate objects, and God. "You, your, yours" are the more formal forms and are used to address superiors, customers, royalties and nobles, and horses.

Some vocabulary used in this fic:

Aroint = away

Avaunt = go away; leave

Get thee gone = get going

Requit = return

Graunt mercy = many thanks

Sup = eat; not a greeting

Erst = at a previous time; formerly

Hello = an exclamation of surprise; not a greeting

An = if; not an indefinite article

Grammercy = thank you

Wight = human

Natheless = nevertheless

Forsooth = in truth

Wist = know

Mete = foods for eating

Troth = truth

By your leave = if you please

I'faith = in good faith, truly, honestly

S'wounds! = a shortened from "God's wounds" and a wow-like exclamation

More belongs to a household than four bare legs in a bed = marriage involves more than just sex

Fain = willingly

* * *

**The Bridegroom of the Lindorm King**

Finland closed the door behind him with trembling fingers and a pounding heart. He had finished washing the dishes from his earlier dinner with his "abductor" … if such term could be deemed appropriate. Technically speaking, he had been the one who had tagged along when Sweden decided to leave Denmark's house. Earlier that afternoon, Sweden had brought him to his house—or rather, he had been too scared to leave Sweden, in case the tall nation would pursue him to the world's end, especially after calling him "wife" in several occasions. The spousal issue, much to Finland's dismay, had turned out to be a serious proposition. Sweden had not prepared a guest room for the terrified Finland; instead, the host had bidden his guest to share a room with him.

Presently, as the color of the sky saturated into a deeper shade of night, Tino Väinämöinen sighed. He was male, dammit! A male nation through and through. Yet, Sweden treated him as a fragile damsel in distress who would probably shatter into a million fragments if not handled with care.

_'Would it be better if I stayed at Denmark's house instead? I cannot be independent there, but at least he doesn't treat me like a sissy.'_

Finland sighed._ 'Sweden is not an evil nation, but he is scary beyond description. Not only does he have a dominating aura and keep silent most of the time, but he also suddenly just touches me for no reason at all. His attitude creeps me out. But how can I escape from here? Wait, even if I can, what if he goes after me and conquer me at my own home?'_

Both of Finland's hands were clutching his head now. However, he was two seconds too late to remove them when a soft click wedged the door open and revealed Sweden's towering figure. Finland's violet eyes widened with fear and his pallor blanched, all previous thoughts forgotten.

Sweden approached him. No sign of anger could be found in his every motion. When he spoke, his voice was most gentle, "Ya alright?"

The gentle timber in the host's voice snapped his frightened guest back into reality. Finland clenched his fists and scraped together every bit of resolutions residing within his body. '_I'm gonna reject his advance. I have to.'_

With a huge gulp, he began, "You … you've always called me 'wife.' I'm male, you know."

"Und I luv ya fer tha'."

_'Love…?'_

_'L-love?!'_

Finland froze. Sure, Sweden had been kind toward him, but to actually love him…? All the words he meant to say—he _needed_ to say—deserted him, leaving his mind blank and his mouth slightly ajar. It was the first time he learned that a single statement held the power to revoke all his objections, pushing the words back down his throat. He could not even move when a strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him close, thus giving Sweden the only permission he tacitly asked.

With no further ado, the host pressed his lips against his guest in a passionate kiss. A pair of moist, tepid lips pressed Finland's mouth, sucking hard enough to numb him of further resistance. The heat of Sweden's embrace left the innermost core of Finland's pride melting. The sensation from being dominated alone was enough to push him over the edge of sanity, but when his taller adversary brushed against the inner seam of his mouth, a strange new pleasure was born: it was as though some current of thunder running through his veins, shaking his entire being with tremulous delight. It made him release a shuddering breath.

"Nngh…"

The shorter nation whimpered, but his companion deepened the kiss, smothering the sound. Finland's fingers tightened in Sweden's hair and his moans were drowned under the other nation's claiming lips. Before long, Sweden's tongue brushed along the width of Finland's upper lip, beseeching for an entry.

Finland had no clue how such a demanding kiss could be so gentle. He sought to unravel the mystery and, since the only way to do so was by granting his kisser further access, he opened his mouth, blushing as he did so.

Contrary to Finland's expectation, Sweden didn't just dive right in. Nor did he begin his tongue invasion with brute strength or merciless strokes. Instead, his tongue performed a dance of which existence Finland had never known of until today. Slow. Deliberate. Indulging. There was aggressiveness in the dance, but it gave Finland all the rooms he needed to respond.

Finland stilled, as tremulous excitement seized his whole body. Then, a realization dawned on the bashful man. The movements of this tongue dance were not random; they were carefully orchestrated to deliver him a message: '_Rakastan sinua._'

Inaudible as it was, the special message did not fail to come to Finland's recognition. '_Why is Sve declaring his love to me in my native language?'_

Finland pulled away in shock, trails of saliva dangling from his mouth. His cheeks were redder than they had been in the beginning of their heated kiss. He panted, murmuring Sweden's name, though he did not do so consciously. Who could have guessed that Sweden—_dreadful_ Sweden—was such a fantastic kisser?

The next few minutes were a flurry—a fusion of his embarrassed whimpers, his fear to stop his partner, his own curiosity of how sex with another male nation would feel, and the fumbling of their peeled off clothes. In the end, Finland found himself bare and gingerly laid on Sweden's large bed.

Although Finland was not fully aware on what exactly he was doing, he must have wrapped his legs around Sweden's back and pulled it into an embrace at one point, because his erection jabbed momentarily against his partner's stomach. The moment Sweden's bare thighs touched his, however, it became clear to Finland that his partner's superiority in size extended even as far as the special gift hanging between his legs. The timid nation gasped.

Because of the incriminating hardness at one particular spot of Sweden's body, his gentle, loving touches sent a frisson through the shorter nation. Squirming, the Finn shut his eyes tightly. His breath hitched. The thought of his impending ravishment had his brow arched in both fear and despair.

_'Come on Finland, you're a man, aren't you? Tell him you don't want his enormous dick shoved inside you. You're a free nation; why should you force yourself to endure the sting of being full to the brim with another male's lust?'_

Finland felt his legs being nudged apart and they trembled in a daunted prevision of what was about to transpire.

_'It's no use. He frightens me.'_

Finland felt the warmth of another nation's skin brushing his inner thighs. He wanted to scream, but to offer disobedience and invite Sweden's displeasure could cost him the devastation of the entire Finland—or so he assumed. If, by offering his submission in flesh and do Sweden's bidding, he could save his own country…

_'This is it. He's going to take me. I'm going to be a man whose body lies in defeat, whose soul is despoiled, and whose frail masculinity has been denied.'_

"Not gonna hurt ya." It was not Sweden's flesh that penetrated Finland; it was his voice.

Finland reopened his eyes. Before him was a taller, stronger nation who _could_ just force his way into him, but chose to wait until he was ready instead. Some ointment was dripping from the entire length of the bespectacled nation's manhood; it was unfamiliar to the frightened one, but he could guess that it was meant to aid the penetration. Sweden was waiting _for_ him.

Perhaps it was his partner's sincerity, perhaps it was a feeling that had long lurked inside him but yet to be awakened, from the moment Finland's eyes found Sweden's, an unknown, raw desire sweeping pretense away from the shorter nation. He gulped and took a quick, but deep breath. "I'm fine now."

_'What the hell am I answering him with?' _Finland mentally cursed his own impulsive temerity. '_I shouldn't be encouraging Berwald Oxenstierna to molest me further!'_

Sweden offered him no word in return, but he bent to kiss Finland's knees one by one, and then closed them.

_'What? Isn't he going to penetrate me?'_

Perplexed by this treatment, Finland searched for Sweden's turquoise eyes. They were not the eyes of a conqueror ready to dig in his war spoils. They were full of concern. Gradually, Finland began to understand that his partner cared more about the shorter blond's fear of penetration than his own comfort.

Finland opened his mouth, but he did not know what to speak, so he closed it again.

He did nothing as Sweden's large hand traveled to his head and stroked his hair tenderly, never ceasing until the smaller nation's muscles truly relaxed.

Only then did Sweden move his pelvis back as far as it would go to allow the head of his manhood to slide slowly down the cleft formed by Finland's closed thighs.

_'Intercrucal sex?'_ wondered Finland in his mind. Sweden's compassion saved his neck—well, more likely his dignity—tonight, but there was no guarantee he would keep off Finland's inviolate hole forever.

"Dun't cluse yer legs too tightly."

It was a request, but in Finland's ears, it was no less than a command. Obligingly, he spread his feet slightly apart, just enough to allow passage for the requester.

Little by little, Sweden's bulge began to inch its way between Finland's thighs and eventually emerging through them. The taller nation pushed forward again and the two of them were pressed even more tightly against each other, one rigid flesh upon another; one induced by desire, the other, trepidation.

Finland shut his eyes, wishing with all his might that this would be over soon. His muscles were contracting violently. Grateful though he was to Sweden for not compelling anal sex upon him at their first time together, it did not change the fact that he had never experienced such intimacy hitherto.

Sweden pushed and gyrated, teasing and taming his partner's untouched fissure until Finland's muscles familiarized themselves with the relentless onslaught and granted him unimpeded access.

Looking above his folded knees, Finland saw a taut body pressing into him in back-and-forth motions. '_I ought to be repulsed when another male's penis is rubbing me like this, but … but … it fells rather … good. Damn it!'_

When Sweden's arms slipped from Finland body, for the first time the shorter nation realized something was incomplete without Sweden's touch. In fact, he _preferred_ to be touched. _'Hhh … hhhhh … this is bad. He's devotion incarnate, he is. If this doesn't cease soon, I may end up asking for more.'_

Sweden pulled back until the tip skimmed over the base of Finland's sac. He stayed shallow, driving the head of his shaft over the bundle of nerves in a relentless rhythm of short, but powerful strokes.

Although Finland did everything he could just so that he wouldn't moan, such a thing was impossible to achieve. Entrapped between Sweden's labored breathing and intimate caresses, there was no other place Finland would rather be. _'No … I can no longer think straight. Even though he did not enter my body, my mind is already full of him.'_

Finland felt himself tighten, his entire body tensing for orgasm. Sweat streaked down his chest, over his delicate pelvis. The heat that had been continuously pooling in his belly felt no different from lava at the brink of eruption. True, it was trepidation that roused him at first, but now, pleasure was going to be his sole reason to spill.

Finland's knitted eyebrows and ragged breathing warned Sweden how close he was to completion. Although the bespectacled nation could still go on, he chose to come together with his partner. He traced the imaginary line inside of Finland's forearm and, gently, held his hand, interlacing their fingers.

The only thing Finland was aware of when he came was his own name, how it rolled on Sweden's tongue like a sacred incantation, filling his breath, air, everything. Then, Sweden—the strong yet gentle Sweden—once again took possession of his lips.

_Tell me Sve, the thing that I'm feeling now … is it 'love'?_ Finland wanted to say, but didn't trust himself to speak.

Emptied of his seed, Sweden let himself fall forward, his larger form blanketing his partner. His chest heaving upon the other nation's, his heart beating against his lover's, his stomach sealed to Finland's by the film of sweat that had formed between their perspiring torsos. The taller blond's rapid breathing mixed with his partner's occasional whimper. He gazed at Finland for long time without saying a word.

_'Was that supposed to be a "goodnight," "you belong to me," "sleep well," "was I good?," "you were lousy," or what? Arrgggh, how the heck am I supposed to know what's in Sve's mind?!'_

Finland had to bite his lip so as not to moan at the feel of the other nation's comforting weight; their bodies touched from chest to groin, and Sweden lit invisible fire within him wherever their skin made contact. The bigger nation had always been so cautious around him and treated him like a sacred object rather than a spoil of war.

When his bedmate rolled to the side, at last, Finland had the urge to detain his partner by gathering his legs around the taller nation's hips and pushing his ankles at the small of Sweden's back so that their two bodies remained connected. Even so, he failed to summon his courage. He could only repress his sigh and let the other nation's bodily warmth drift away from him.

That night, just like the nights they had spent sleeping under the canopy of stars while travelling together, Sweden draped his arm around Finland. The only difference was the sense of familiarity that had mingled somewhere along with the timid nation's usual fear. Finland closed his eyes and let sleep claim them both.

###

It had been hours when the night dyed the velvet sky with deeper melanite color before the call of nature roused Finland from his slumber. However, having relieved himself, his hand knocked the towel railing next to the washbasin. While the bumping caused no serious injury, he found that drowsiness had drifted away from him and now his eyes were wide open. The very thought of returning to the master bedroom was beyond discomfort: What if his movements woke the scary, tall blond nation who seemingly ready to devour him at any time? Finland sighed, aware that no matter how dreadful the aura Sweden exuded, it was nowhere as culpable as his own cowardice.

Trying to ease his mind, the slender man decided to explore his new dwelling. Sweden had showed him around earlier that afternoon, but Finland wanted to inspect each room in greater depth tonight.

_'The living room walls are so plain. A picture or two would be nice_, he thought. Next came the hallway. _The color of this storage chest doesn't agree with the room décor.'_ A smile graced Finland's face when he reached Sweden's kitchen. Sure, it needed restock on the food side, but he loved the design of its island table, drawers, and cupboards.

Finland ventured further until he arrived at Sweden's study. A beech-colored desk nestled on one corner of the room, next to wall-mounted shelves laden with scrolls. If there were one thing that Finland admired from Sweden (in addition to his kind gesture, handsome face, gorgeous build, tremendous devotion, and endless affection), it was his tidiness. No bread crumbs or mead stains were present.

Finland browsed the literary collection, wanting to acquaint himself more with Sweden's taste. Undoubtedly, scrolls addressing technological subjects occupied the majority of the shelves. One particular scroll drew Finland's attention. The first image that came into view was gold-gilded illumination enriched with swirly Nordic decorations. The title at the center read: _A Compilation of Swedish Folklores_.

Finland unrolled the scroll further and began to read. The scroll comprised numerous legends and folktales: _Stompe Pilt, The Skalunda Giant, Knös, Charcoal Nils and the Troll-Woman, The Poor Devil, The Cat of Norrhult, How Smaland and Schonen Came to Be_, among many others. The story that had Finland's greatest attention, however, was _The Bride of the Lindorm King_. He could not help imagining how it would be if Sweden was the lindorm and he, the creature's true love on their consummation night.

###

Legend had it that centuries ago, the Queen of Sweden was immersed with grief, for she could not beget an heir to the throne. She then sought the advice of a soothsayer, who bade her to bathe and consume two red onions. These she did, but her over-zealousness urged her to eat the first onion unpeeled. Repulsed by the distaste of the onion skin, she then made sure that the other onion was peeled thoroughly.

After nine cycles of the moon, the queen gave birth to twin sons. At the emergence of the first prince, the midwife gave out a shriek of horror, for in lieu of a healthy human babe with rubicund cheeks and cherubic limbs, the child took the form of a lindorm—a hideous, serpentine dragon, whose wingless body thrashed upon the marble floor in scaly coils, and from which sprang powerful limbs with taloned feet.

Out of shame and horror, the queen hurled the newly-born lindorm through the window into the forest surrounding the palace. Next, the queen gave birth again, but this time, to a healthy human babe. Thus, from then on, the younger twin was raised as a prince—pampered with love and never lacked of anything. On the other hand, the true crown prince of the land—serpentine in form, but human at heart—suffered the long years of forlornness.

On his twenty-first winter, the second prince hunted in the forest. Amidst the denseness of the trees, a turquoise-scaled lindorm made its appearance before him. The lindorm gazed down at the youthful prince with unblinking eyes that penetrated his innermost thoughts. A voice with insensate, reptilian phonation rang inside his head, "Be it known throughout the land: Ne'er shalt thou obtain a wife ere I, thy elder kin, have found my true love."

Ever since, a succession of lasses was given to the lindorm in the hope of ridding the impediment that beset the path of the young prince's quest for the hand of a fair maiden. Nevertheless, seeing that the bride candidates came unwillingly, the monster rejected them all.

In the village, there lived a cheery and mild youth of Finn ancestry by the name of Tino Väinämöinen who worked as a broom-squire under a rambunctious besom-maker of Danish origin. Day and night, the landlord enslaved the youth with the banal severity of endless daily tasks, from farming the land to cleaning the house, while the landlord indulged himself in the merriment of drinking. Then, one day, the landlord sent his underling to fetch logs in the woods for their winter fire.

Tino had managed to gather a small bundle of dried twigs, but when his lord saw this faggot, he was greatly dissatisfied by size of the twigs and bade the knave, "Thou base dismal-dreaming jolt-head! Canst thou not find a sizeable tree? Aroint and avaunt! Get thee gone from my sight! Dare not come back hither until a bigger log thou fetchest, lout!"[i]

Thus, poor Tino was compelled to return to the woods. The last ray of the day had hidden itself under the edge of heaven's dome when he left his master's dwelling and the sky had darkened into charcoaly night by the time he set foot amidst the long shadows of the trees. The foliage offered the Finn no refuge from the determined blows of the nocturnal wind. With light so scarce, the wood that he had frequented during daytime now transformed into a hostile place. The trees were so leafy that one could not glimpse the sky. Try as he might, he could not yield the thought that the soil might seek to trip his feet with its hidden ruts to bring him down and the trees might sway their arm-like branches to capture him.

"O my liver, be brave," Tino admonished himself, "The punishments that my master will doll out to me must be a far harsher penalty than what might await me in this forest."

As soon as he found the desirable tree, the young man swung his ax, wishing to leave the embrace of the vast darkness around him at the earliest opportunity. Alas, the faint gleam of a single torch in such a benighted welkin gave the youth no warning that the vascular plants on the forest floor had commenced to ravel their knotty twigs around his foot whilst he worked his way. There was no escaping the tree as it fell, and Tino could only shut his eyes and welcome his imminent death with a deafening scream.

Seconds passed. No pain came into being. Slowly, Tino opened his eyes and, amidst the flickering dance of the lambent torch flame, he saw a pair of teal eyes staring back at him. The golden-haired boy blinked a few times, and then squinted, trying to delineate his rescuer's form. At first, he could recognize nothing but those eyes. Then, he heard a swishing sound came to understand that whoever had saved him had not been using his arms to suspend the weight of the tree, but suspending the log with his back and, just now, he tossed it aside with the powerful lash of his—nay, _its_…

…tail!

Eyes transfixed on the entity before him, Tino did not have the luxury to scream, or even emit so much as a gasp. Through his unmitigated timorousness, Tino beheld this figure of a lindorm. Save for the creature's eyes, the rest of its body adapted the penumbral color of the nocturnal forest itself. Slowly, a dragon's torso came to view, from which, a pair of forelegs grew. The lower body of a serpent supported it, fully equipped with two pairs of underdeveloped hind legs. Satiny, moon-kissed scales covered the beast's full body. Never in his life had Tino encountered something so frighteningly beautiful.

The beast shifted. Probably it would simply take its leave, but Tino's panic-stricken heart spurred his feet to run. Neglecting his torch, he ran blindly through the thickest of bushes. Shrieks of terror escaped his mouth unbidden, filling the forest and announcing his presence to the creatures of the night.

The dim light of the waning moon failed to penetrate the canopy of the emergent trees, hindering Tino on his flight. Perspiration streamed endlessly with each frantic stride he made; he had to fight through bramble and coarse undergrowth, sustaining tears to his raiment as well as cuts to his skin. It was still endurable at present, but he had no doubt that the weakness would aggravate the more exhausted he became. The ululation of the wolves in the distance stoked the flames of fear for his own survival coiling in his gut.

No sound, however, warned Tino of the ravine straight ahead, full of water which was undoubtedly deep and placid. One of his feet had already traversed the very edge of a precipitous drop when his whereabouts became known to him. Quickly, he stepped back, drawing in great gulps of cold air in attempt to still his loudly thumping heartbeat. A few pebbles fell into the chasm, and, albeit he could not see them in this illimitable darkness, he heard their sound hitting the bottom of the valley a moment later. How many leagues the chasm would stretch downwards? How many pieces would his body be torn asunder if he were to fall?

At any rate, he could not have much to consider in the matter, for his ears caught other sounds. There were footsteps, foliage being pried apart, and howls. The wolves were coming _for_ him.

Tino turned back into the shrubberies, hoping to find a side escape and praying that the pack of wolves did not come in a number large enough to surround him. Nonetheless, the first thing he encountered was the lupine fangs, ready to strike a deadly blow upon his throat. He nimbly dodged the wolf's lunge only to have another wolf's claws etched across his skin, drawing fresh blood across the flesh between his shoulder blades and chest.

Tino screeched an agonized cry. In his moment of throe, more wolves attacked his waist and limbs. The veil of darkness might deny him the clarity of the sight of his pooling blood, but it did nothing to hide the rancid, coppery scent that gushed from his body.

_'Ah woe, 'tis the end of me,'_ thought he with droplets of tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

Times were easy for the feasting wolves there until finally one beast, larger by far, emerged amongst their ranks. A lindorm was the creature disrupting their banquet, making a meal of his own by trampling the nearest wolf and tearing the struggling gray creature from limb to limb. The blood of the prey spattered the hunter carmine. In a mystifying combination of ferocity and grace, the serpentine beast was truly a daunting as much as he was a fabulous sight.

The other wolves charged at the lindorm, sinking their fangs in its scale-covered body. Wolves did not usually stand up to things that were larger than them, but this lindorm had attacked the members of their pack, and forgiveness was not complimentary. Even so, that the dragon's scales were impenetrable was conspicuous; the creature did not even writhe. It shook all the wolves off its body with one seemingly effortless movement and its opponents scattered on the ground.

Upon returning to their feet, however, none of the wolves were foolish enough to attempt further aggression; the difference in power was too enormous and it would be wiser for them to retreat. A one-eyed gray wolf that seemed to be the leader of the pack issued a short howl and, following this signal, all the surviving wolves scurried back into the deep recesses of the forest. Tino could see the lindorm crawling toward him ere his vision became blurry and blood loss took consciousness away from him.

The next time Tino opened his eyes, he was laid on a bear's pelt and blanketed with a wolf's pelt. His wounds were dressed with herbs; he recognized the somewhat long, broad leaves of blackish green-colored were of the plant vervain and the reddish, slender-branched leaves were septifoil, though he failed to identify the rest of the tonic that lay against his wounds. The golden-haired youth looked around the room weakly. Next to the rug, lay a bear's skull, filled with freshly drawn spring water. Nearby, warm fire glow, over which a large chunk of meat was being roasted. The smoke curled, filling the cave with mouthwatering aroma.

_'Where I be? How long have I been couching? Who hast brought me hither? I wouldst give him graunt mercy for his kindness.'[ii]_

Tino rose from his cozy bedding, weak as he was from the previous night's injuries. Sensing no other presence in the cave, he walked outside whilst creeping along and leaning on the rocky wall, each step a laborious task to his limbs.

At the mouth of the cavern, he was greeted by the light of day. Two opposing walls of escarpment rose as high as his eyes could see and stretched into the distance in both directions, whereby sunbeams darted through, shimmering onto the forest floor below. The cliffs were bedecked with the scantiest of stunted vegetation to punctuate the monotony of the morose rocks. It was on one of these walls that the cave nestled, overlooking a large body of misty water far below. From below the cliff, jutted a small balcony of snowy ground.

_''tis a region of insularism and silence that preserves naught but bleakness and inhospitality. At this rate, how I be to requit unto where I hailed?' [iii]_

Tino heard his stomach grumble; he had not consumed any food since the previous evening.

"Sup." An unfamiliar male voice, which was serene yet imperial, sliced through the wintry air.

Tino staggered back, his countenance robbed of its color and his teeth chattering in his head. Gooseflesh erupted all over his skin. Around him, there was nothing but the snowy ground. He even scoured the neighboring defiles, but still unable to detect any sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life in the vicinity.

Riven by terror, he cried in a timid voice, "W-who sayeth that?"

A shape came into view—pointy teeth, strong claws, impenetrable scales, robust tail. Verily, it was the same lindorm Tino had encountered the night before, and now the youth learned that the lindorm possessed the color change camouflage of a chameleon as a trait of its own. At the sight of the monster, blood was drained from the golden-haired youth's veins. Too speechless to emit even a gasp, he stood rooted to the ground, for tremors resided within the marrows of his bones and dread rendered his entire nerves numb.

Seconds rolled into minutes; yet, the lindorm made no movement, as though wordlessly conveying that it would not imperil him. The Finn boy's mind raced._ 'The beast needed not to declare an 't desired to sup me. Perhaps the 'sup' was a command. Am I supposed to sup the flesh that is in the cave?'[iv]_

Then, a sudden realization hit the Finn: the lindorm was going to fatten him like a pig for slaughter. Cold sweat broke from Tino's temple. With the injuries inflicted by the wolves and the rumble of his empty stomach, he was in no shape for running. In the end, he decided to follow the lindorm's bidding for the nonce, but vowed to himself that he would seek escape at the nearest opportunity. Abjectly, he retreated into the cave.

Out of Tino's speculation, the meat was seasoned. He could tell the contribution of verjuice and, if his memory did not deceive him, the faint hint of samphire, as well. While verjuice was common—though its taste differed from one household to another—samphire was dear, and a broom-squire like him had been fortunate enough to eat it once every few years. His gustatory sensation could not probe the other flavorings by precision, but his much he knew: the meat itself was a stranger to his tongue.

What concerned him more was the fact that the lindorm—a monster—mastered culinary art. The meal would have tasted like the feast from heaven had the thought of the serpentine creature might strike him at any moment not reduced his appetite. Nonetheless, even after the meal was finished, the beast never positioned itself closer than a fathom from the craven Finn.

"Enjoyest thou the meal?" the lindorm inquired from where he lay, curling by the cave entrance.

_'"Thou"? Not e'en "you"? O execrable beast! Perpendeth 't mankind to be lesser beings than its race?'[v] _"Aye, 'twas exquisite," answered the boy, swallowing the indignation that began to stir within him, "From which animal cometh the flesh?"

"Bear," replied the lindorm simply.

"Oh, now I wist me how a bear doth taste. Grammercy."[vi] Then, Tino realized that although the lindorm did not have any speaking deficiency, the creature might not have spoken in human language since time immemorial. Its voice was laced with a certain amount of hesitancy, as though testing whether the articulation still worked properly. The boy could only guess that the draconic creature must have been lonely without anyone to converse.

"You have saved my life," spoke the boy again.

The beast spoke nothing in return, but at the very least, he did not disagree with Tino.

Discomforted by the silence, the youth attempted a discourse with the beast. "Your scales are hard as iron yet smooth as snake's skin."

"A lindorm has such trait—always it is thus."

"Wherefore you be adept in the tongue of the mankind? Used you to live with wights erstwhile?"[vii]

At this, the lindorm cast the golden-haired boy one look of anguish, and then crept away from the cave.

Never in his entire life had Tino suspected that such a brute beast could be so pitiful. A pang of guilt seized the young man by the heart. '_Foolish me! I should have delved not into my savior's past.' _Gathering his courage and hoping with all his might that his upcoming words would assuage the fabulous creature, he cried, "I beg your forgiveness, o lindorm, for I sought to further my knowledge of you. It occurred not to me that I would dismay you in this regard. Howbeit, rest assured that from this day on, nevermore shall I invoke upon such talk."

The human boy's little voice rang throughout the cave, reverberated by the rocky walls. In response, the beast turned its head and spoke, "Most well." Next, without further explanation, it disappeared at one corner of the mouth of the cave.

A part of Tino felt relieved that the monster was gone, but the other part of him wanted the lindorm to stay. He stared at the bandages draping his wounds and wondered how those claws managed to achieve this.

Having nothing else to do, the Finn paced the cave as far as the light from the fire allowed him to see. Deeper inside, he was astounded to find the cave walls had been carved into shelves. The nearest shelf hosted animal skulls of various shapes and sizes, and when Tino came closer, he perceived that each skull contained different herb. The next shelf held peculiar objects of which name functions he held no clue. The shelf opposite was laden with scrolls, and at this sight, the human boy truly gasped. Could it be that the lindorm was literate, while less than one tenth of the village population could spell their names correctly?

The deeper Tino explored the cave, the more his ears caught the sound of water splashes. More shelves bedecked the cave walls as he walked. When he traced the source of the sound at last, the part of the cave was too somber to allow his eyes to inspect the details. As far as he could tell, there was a wooden watermill and a stone basin about the size of a well. Nearby, another unknown object lay. In the darkness, it looked almost like an unfinished pair of dragon wings attached together.

Tino started to wonder if the lindorm fashioned those wings because it could not fly when another realization hit him. _'Didst the lindorm build all these? Hello! How civilized! Its—nay, _his_—intelligence is e'en on par with that of men.'_

The lindorm returned in less than half an hour later, carrying the carcass of a moose and a bunch of dry twigs on its back. With a few deft movements of his claws, the lindorm skinned the moose off its furry hide and sliced the meat into small chunks. Next, the creature added the thick twigs into the fire and used the thin twigs to skewer the meat chunks, placing the finished work on the rack of the carcass' skeletal bones.

The lindorm approached one of the shelves and fetched some rosemary leaves from one of the skulls as well as a flat stone and a tubular stone from another shelf. He placed the rosemary on the flat stone and, wielding the tubular stone with his tail, he crushed the leaves—just as humans employed mortar and pestle. He then rubbed the crushed herb onto the skewered meat and fetched salt as well as other powdered spices.

All this time, the lindorm's dexterity left Tino's mouth agape, but when the creature commenced to return the skulls of spices to the herb shelf, the young man rose to assist hm. "Allow me to succor you."

The lindorm merely replied, "Thou art injured. Retire."

"I can do me this much," insisted the boy, feeling obliged to return some of his savior's favor.

The lindorm seemed taken aback—perhaps not accustomed to refusal. He took a glance at the human's injuries, trying to decide whether the severity of the wounds allowed their bearer to perform the proposed task. In the end, he spoke nothing and let the Finn carry some of the spices.

Later, the two of them sat by the fire, watching the meat cooked, its fat glistening and hissing as it dripped into the fire below it. Tino inquired, "Pray tell, have you a name?"

"Berwald Oxenstierna," came the reply.

"Berwald, I am called Tino Väinämöinen by name."

The lindorm nodded in acknowledgement, then, with his tail, removed a skewer of meat from the fire. He examined it first; not until he had been certain that the meat was properly cooked did he give the skewer to his guest. Only then he took the next skewer for himself.

After they finished their supper, the boy spoke rapidly and nervously, fearing lest he might inflict another offense upon his gracious host, "In the fashion of mankind you sup—of this I am astonished. I wrong did perpend you would devour your prey raw, while 'twas fresh or e'en alive."[viii]

Nevertheless, the creature answered with a calm tone, "Indeed I tried, but the flavor I liked not."

Tino hesitated even more, his voice pitch growing higher, "…eat you wights?"

"They are amongst my mete not."[ix]

"Phew." Tino exhaled in relief, and then pointed at the two flint stones near his left foot. "Ah, forsooth, I am agazed that you use those. I agnise i'faith I ween that from your mouth would fire come forth."[x]

"With magic powers I have been birthed not."

It occurred to Tino that Berwald might be an oddity in his family and became an outcast amongst lindorms for that reason. Underneath the veil of his draconic scales, a gentle soul resided. Pity diffused through the boy, and, urged by instinct, he sidled closer to where the lindorm was reclining to pat the serpentine creature's back.

Berwald recoiled; no one had ever touched him this gently heretofore.

"P-pardon me. 'Tis not my wish to interlope."

The lindorm craned its neck, peering at the human's disheartened gaze. For one ephemeral moment, Tino thought Berwald was vexed by his patting, but the next second, the creature lay its head on the ground again, granting the Finn a silent permission to continue. The boy stroked tentatively at first, and then with bolder endeavor of the rising pressure until they both fell asleep, curling next to each other.

One morning, when the lindorm left the cave in search for food, the human boy bade him a safe journey, waving from the mouth of the cave. After the fabulous creature was no longer within sight, the boy began meditating his means of escape. First, he attempted to determine direction based on his surroundings. In the northern hemisphere, south-facing slopes received more sunlight than north-facing slopes and were, therefore, warmer, drier, and were decked with shallower snow-packed ground. This was the direction of the slopes opposite the cave. Since the village was located east to the forest, his way back would lie along the course of his left hand side.

The Finn sighed. His current state disallowed him to travel, but although he would be fully recovered from his injuries in a couple of days' time, a part of him pleaded to remain at Berwald's side. True, the lindorm was not one who was easy to draw out, but he could be communicative enough when the fancy seized him. Despite his perennial quietness, the creature proved to be a much more amicable companion than any of the villagers ever had been to him.

While Berwald _could_ speak, he certainly did not use the blessing of tongue much. For most of the time, silence hung in the air, and they grew so accustomed to it that wordless interaction became something natural between them. The lindorm showed his affability through actions as opposed to words, while the human received the amity gratefully and responded with equal kindness.

There was one thing that Tino would not dare to admit: as ever and anon, for no reason at all, he would cast over his shoulder a glance upon Berwald. He would quickly avert his eyes, cheeks blazing radiantly, as soon as the serpentine creature looked back at him, but ventured to resume stealing glances whenever his adversary's attention was disengaged from him.

The cycle of their activities repeated itself. Their days were spent in a gentle, loving and relaxed pattern. Their nights were spent with cuddling and caressing that grew more and more intimate. Each paced it slowly, and was delighted when the other coyly initiated a new affectionate gesture. As their natural curiosity evolved into eagerness, the two species learned how to love.

The days shifted, and the course of winter grew harsher. The hunting and cooking routine repeated themselves, but Berwald began to save some meat for emergency food. Hence, having completely recovered from his wounds, Tino decided to hunt and cook their meal as a surprise for his companion. He set off shortly after the dragon departed from their cave.

The cliff was by no means easy to climb. When he looked at the altitude beneath his feet, his heart sank. Still, the prospect of providing Berwald with a pleasant surprise urged Tino on. The sun climbed to its meridian, piercing with ruthless beams the nethermost umbrage of the strait, deep-walled ravines. One slow, careful step after another, the youth managed to creep his way albeit it was already past noon when he reached the cliff top.

Tino was certain that Berwald would not fail to catch an animal for their meal, so he gathered herbs for their side dishes instead. Too absorbed in plucking kales, snow peas, skirrets, and radishes, the young man did not realize that he had gone too far from the lindorm's nest.

He wheeled this way and that, blundering around on the forest, trying to find his way back.

Later—although after more falls, more lashings from thin branches, and more shadowy sightings, none of which bothered to reveal themselves properly—he reached the edge of the woods and the great field opened up to him. With a deep sigh, he was once more on his feet and jogging across the grassland, a respite from the woods, no branches or bushes or unsightly things to stall him, nothing there to impede his progress except the miry surface.

The youth gazed over the surrounding land. Hills rolled into the distance, patched with birch and oak with scanty leaves. Smoke curled in the distance, but the village from which it originated was hidden in the folds of the land. Tino's breath hitched. This chaparral landscape was no longer unfamiliar to him.

_'If I this path go past, at the village I be arrive. Natheless, what is there to await me? More chores from that marble-hearted ale-soused apple john?'[xi] _

Tino clenched his fists. He knew that even if his body were to return to the village, where his fellow humans abided, his heart would linger in the cavern wherein the Berwald dwelt. Wouldn't it be better being happy than being wise?

Hence, the Finn boy hastened to retrace his steps, for the crepuscular shadow was starting to draw in. He had hardly started, however, ere he realized the difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken. The terrain in which he found himself divided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were so congruous to one another that it was impossible to distinguish them. He followed one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent that contained nothing to betoken what he had ever seen thus far. Convinced that he had taken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with the same result.

Tino fingered a tree bark, looking for support. His feet were sore and the rest of his body groaned from fatigue. He cast desperately around, peering into the trees for some way out. He saw dripping water, one fat drop after another, splashing rapidly onto the earth.

With the pounding rain limiting his vision and the woods themselves unfamiliar hinterland, he vagabonded in exasperation, turning circles and utterly confused. Lightning flashed, bright and blinding. Thunder shook the ground. The leaves flurried. Rain and hail buffeted Tino's scalp, sharp and stinging. Gale struck his tunic, gnawed on his eyes, ululated in his ears. It was a strenuous effort just to see or hear, but it was even more difficult to breathe—he did not know how much longer his lung could withstand such brumal air. In his heart, he prayed for a surcease of the downpour.

He told himself: there had to be a landmark nearby, something he knew, something that would give him his bearings. Even so, there were only rocks out there, gargantuan rocks and shifting trees and the troubled, monochrome sky.

Alone he wobbled, encumbered by the weight of his wet raiment. His stomach rumbled noisily; abstaining from food for more than nine hours had considerably weakened him. Sundown had draped the sky with its vespertine shadow before the rain ceased and Tino caught sight of an escarpment he rendered familiar. On its precipice grew a lichen-covered tree, of which jagged trunk had been struck by a lightning bolt in times of yore. The tree stood fiercely upright with its pointed, splintered pinnacle aimed defiantly at the dreary clouds above, making a clear distinction from the dismal rocks around it.

As soon as Tino noticed this trail, he lumbered toward it with such a relief for knowing his direction once more. Even then, he had to strain his eyes to find his way, for the moon had not yet risen, and the high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound. Weighed down with his burden, and weary from his exertions, the tired man stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection that every step brought him nearer to his dearest Berwald.

Only when lightning next illuminated the landscape did he catch sight of the cliff in the distance and realize where he was. This part of the forest began to assume an unfathomed desolation. The hills were ebonite and damp, with no lizard scurrying on the rocks. Billows of dirt were driven high on the crumbling cliffs and the fine particles of dust danced amidst the torrential rainwater. None of these sights brought him more relief than the sight of the serpentine creature that had nursed him to health for the past ten days.

"Berwald!" called Tino, and the creature approached him from yonder.

Seen from close, the lindorm's eyes appeared larger than life, especially when he opened and shut his eyelids several times on awakening: dark blue when looked at in the shadow, greenish-blue in bright light, they seemed to contain layer upon layer of color, thicker and cloudier beneath, lighter and more transparent toward the lustrous surface. The sight of his companion—the draconic scales luminescent in the light of the moon—made Tino murmur breathlessly.

Lurching with exhaustion from his long, circuitous journey and aggravated by his hunger, Tino stumbled onto the ground. He noticed Berwald hied faster toward him, a worried look shadowing his eyes. He wished he would not have to put his companion in such an unnecessary concern for him; and yet, there was noting the boy could do when his knees gave away like this.

Tino opened his mouth to utter an apology for making the lindorm worry, but a scaly limb that draped over his body put his speech into a halt. Berwarld was embracing him, not minding his mud-stained tunic.

"Thou hast returned unto me," the lindorm said, his tone laced with such a great relief.

"A cave-dweller I would rather me be than live without you." The words came sincerely from Tino's heart. The wingless dragon had been kind and companionable, and Tino deemed it a treat to spend the evenings quietly with the magical creature, instead of passing them under the inimical eyes of the villagers.

Tino opened the rag bundle slung over his shoulder and showed the herbs he had gathered to Berwald. "Troth is, meseemeth how injudicious it would be if I let you alone labor for our meals."[xii]

He needed not to elaborate his explanation, for the lindorm crouched down and placed the human's exhausted body on his scaly back. "Take a fast hold of me," said he to Tino before climbing down the ravine.

When they arrived at the cave, a pot of stew had been waiting for them. Merrily they ate; Berwald acted no differently than the previous evenings, although Tino insisted to treat him as a hero. The boy did not even stop with a kiss on the forehead when he bade the lindorm goodnight, but continued his little kisses down the creature's snout, culminating on the mouth—he would rather run the risk of the dragon's refusal than of an aeon of unanswered curiosity.

Sensing his partner tremulousness, the boy asked him not with words, but with his eyes, _'Shall rejection be fairer lodged than love?'_

Still, Berwald gave him no answer.

"Am I the only one who desireth for love to exist between us?" inquired Tino as his partner still did not respond to his kiss. The lindorm kept staring at the boy with singular persistency of an utterly confused expression.

"'tis not that…" stammered the serpentine creature, "Thou kissest me on thy own accord—I am in rapture, but wist not how to reciprocate; my forked tongue or sharp fangs mayeth hurt thee."

"Half-warned is half-armed. All that is left is practice." With that, the Finn boy bent and kissed the lindorm once more.

The beast opened his lipless mouth a little, allowing the human's lips to suffuse it with warmth and softness. Initially, the draconic creature was almost as stiff as a rock, but he incrementally relaxed his muscles and yielded a gentle, chaste kiss to his beloved. He dared not use his tongue that evening, but their kisses grew bolder and bolder with each passing night.

During the days, the lindorm returned early from the hunt, but in lieu of basking in the sunlight as he used to, he entered the deeper recesses of the cave and stayed there until evening came. There were sounds of wood being cut and smoothened, and once, he even saw the lindorm carrying a new log into the cave. The boy was on the point of asking the lindorm what that work might be, but something in the creature's behavior showed him that such an inquiry would be an unwelcome one. It was not until five days later that the lindorm guided his lover into the secret 'workshop.'

"S'wounds!" gasped Tino. Before him lay the biggest berth his eyes had ever lain upon. It was enough to accommodate ten men, be it by length or by breadth. Rather than straws, Tino found the finest duck down underneath the covering of bear pelts. The bed was flanked by the flames from a pair of wall-mounted cressets.

"Is 't not to your liking?"

Tino clutched his tunic, his hands shaking. "Oh my love, 'tis the most magnificent thing I have ever beheld, but when methinks that we shall lay together here, I … I feel so ashamed to learn that my body alone shall be bare, while you still have your integument of scales and hide."

"Then, for every layer of attire thou discardst, I shall shed a layer of mine own integument," answered the lindorm.

Tino began removing his deerskin boots. The lindorm approached two jutting stalagmites and rubbed his head between them until his stretched skin split. He continued downward to his tail, causing the end nearest the head to peel back on itself, until eventually he was able to crawl out of his scaly skin. The inside-out molted skin lay next to Tino's shoes.

Tino removed his woolen cap. Again, the lindorm shed the next layer of skin; this time, it was royal purple instead of white. The process repeated with Tino's foot-wrappers, swathing bands, cloak and cloak pin, belt, coat, overtunic, and trousers. As the boy's clothes all laid on the floor except for a single layer of linen undertunic, so too did the crimson, sepia, tangerine, azure, lime green, goldenrod yellow, and ebon skins of the lindorm—all glimmered iridescently—litter the floor.

Tino gulped. No one had ever seen him in such an underdressed state before. He met Berwald's gaze, it was equal parts embarrassment, nervousness and love. More than that, the lindorm did not breathe a single complain after all those writhing in pains.

The déshabille golden-haired youth took a deep breath and resolved to take off his smock.

When the two of them were bare at last, the wintry night air was chilly on Tino's uncovered skin. Gazing about, he noticed that the only skin intact on the serpentine creature's body was a scale-less layer so thin as to be near diaphanousness. Yet, if Berwald were to feel the cold too, he did not show it.

For a fraction of moment, hesitation passed through Tino—should a human like him truly become the mate of a dragon? But as his eyes found Berwald's, all doubts left him. For a moment, the world ceased to be. The lindorm stepped closer, but the boy found himself unable to move. The fabulous creature had tied him with the only bond he knew: love.

_''tis true that more belongs to a household than four bare legs in a bed. But oft, cloudy mornings turn to clear afternoons._ _With him by my side, I shall embrace my destiny tonight.' _

Berwald said, "With this kiss, I thee propose; with mine entire being, I thee adore; and with all mine earthly possessions, I thee endow."

"O Berwald, I love you and shall love you still until the last day of mine existence." A scarlet blush accompanied Tino's stumbled words. The semi-translucent skin nuzzling against his jawline compelled Tino to utter a quiet moan. He then tried to empty his brain of any thought; it was best not to think about how the dragon managed to alter his body temperature from freezing to boiling within the pace of a heartbeat.

Tino had previously assumed that the lindorm would mount him in similar fashion to that of dogs and sheep and horses, and lay quiescent on his stomach. The weight of his partner never came upon his body nonetheless. The boy took a deep, fortifying breath as the beast maneuvered his right leg so it lay over the creature's sturdier hip. Slowly pressing his paw forward, between the youth's legs, the creature parted them. In this fashion, the lindorm drew his mate toward him, angling his body so that they lay side by side.

"Art thou prepared?"

Tino heard the softest tone in his life articulated by the mouth of his lindorm lover. The creature rarely talked, and yet today asked about his wellbeing twice within an hour. _'Berwald doth so care about me,'_ thought the young man.

"Aye, beloved, by your leave. Soul and flesh, all parts of me are fain yours for the taking," whispered Tino against his beloved's neck. The youth looked at serpentine creature, his lips trembling, but he showed his eagerness by closing the gap between them in a long, gentle kiss.

Together they lay, a boy and a beast, no more and yet no less—two entities joined by the purest love that only few entities in the world possessed. Neither sacral blessing from a christened priest nor festal merrymaking from their kith and kin commemorated their union; yet, the symphony of their heated breathing was tantamount to the sweet music from a minstrel's every breath and every sigh, their feelings were bared under the dark canopy of the cave. Nothing mattered to them, except for each other, and the world around them fell away.

_'Fill me. Complete me. Seal our bond forever more.'_

Each movement Berwald made was a vow of love to his comely mate, with the gentlest of caresses to soothe even Tino's slightest symptom of pain. Yet, even when all but lost in passion and heat, his beloved was pushing back, meeting him thrust for thrust, passion for passion. The bonding was not merely one-way. They joined in spirit, in body, in mind.

One.

Slowly, gradually, the two of them began to recover from the intense experience. As their ragged breaths mingled, capturing each other's panting, Tino felt Berwald's heartbeat throbbing between his shoulder blades. A thin layer of sweat cemented their bodies, just as lust had cemented their souls. With a gentle kiss on the human's neck, the lindorm disengaged himself from his mate.

Tino eyed Berwald lovingly and emitted a contented sigh at the sight of his mate's countenance, which was aglow with their shared pleasure, never guessing that it would be the last time he could gaze upon the draconic creature. Soon, he found that he was no longer wrapped within the serpentine coils of a lindorm, but held in the firm arms of a fellow human.

The Finn boy rubbed his eyes. The lindorm was indeed gone. In its stead, stood a young man of great thews and stature with a visage of a nonpareil comeliness, who was seemingly superior of his age by a mere year.

"Who are you?" Tino inquired in undisguised wonder.

"'tis I, Berwald. Thy love hath dispelled the enchantment that had incarcerated me within the body of a lindorm."

Tino listened raptly to Berwald's tale, from how his mother the queen had sought a soothsayer to the catastrophic aftermath of the unpeeled onion skin. Afterwards, he murmured commiseratingly, "O Berwald, henceforward, never again shall you be alone. As long as I breathe, my body, my soul, my love, I devote them all to you."

The prince took the peasant's hands in his own and proclaimed, "Then, for thee shall I relinquish the throne that is rightfully mine in the hands of my brother. In this cave, I shall dwell with thee until the very life itself shall expire from me. "

As he spoke, Berwald narrowed the distance between his face and Tino's. A quake of mixed fear and desire had sent the shorter boy shivering even before his adversary's mouth claimed him. And yet, the moment their lips slid against each other and their breath mingled, deliriousness from the heat of their skin contact seized the Finn boy. Berwald's tongue slipped past his lips to acquaint itself with the outline of Tino's mouth, the feel of his skin, the fullness of his lower lip. The shorter boy opened his mouth and tilted his head as the slick organ surged forward to explore his mouth with the same intensity that it had his lips.

When the two of them parted, each looked anxiously at the other, cheeks emblazoned with scarlet—it was their first kiss in human form. Having no courage to gaze at his lover, Tino rested his head against the hollow of Berwald's throat. His hand roamed over his partner's chest, mapping the newly discovered topography of the Swedish man's flesh. With broad shoulders and enticingly sculpted chest, Berwald's torso tapered to a sinfully slender waist. Then, between his beloved's tautly muscled thighs, there was also … _that_. Tino closed his eyes, his blush deepening.

Then, Tino felt Berwald shifting. He cast his lover a worried look, fearing that the taller man might feel uncomfortable with their excessive cuddling. But the Swedish prince rose to sit on the bed and part the Finn lad's thighs.

Tino gasped; the gleam in those blue eyes showed how much passion Berwald harbored for him. Nonetheless, as though silently beseeching for permission, the towering figure above him halted.

Tino nodded. Just as Berwald, who was curious about how it would feel to take his lover in his human form, Tino, too, wished to know the sensation of being taken by a man.

Berwald pulled Tino up so that the both of them were sitting on the bed, with the smaller of them ensconced in his lap. Back leaning against Berwald's chest and stomach, Tino could feel his lover's racing heartbeat against his skin. Still, the Swedish prince shifted closer, cushioning his Finn lover's tender thighs with his own. Only then, the palpitation commenced. Berwald stroked Tino's manhood, tentatively at first, but then the touches grew more and more eager. The pace grew faster; the pressure, firmer.

"Oh!" Tino could not bear it any longer. A squeak of pleasure escaped his lips. Then another. And another. He called his lover's name.

###

"Sveeeeee!"

Standing by the door, Sweden had never heard his name pronounced in such a messy, yet such a beautiful way at the same time. But the sight before him made him almost drop the cup of steaming hot chocolate in his hand: a sitting Finland was touching himself in the nude, looking hot and bothered, with the manuscript of Swedish folktales lying beside his clothes on the desk.

"Eek!" Upon noticing Sweden's presence, Finland squeaked and hastily covered his crotch. His face had already been flushing owing to the ministration of his hands, but now, the shade of scarlet deepened to crimson. He tried to invent an excuse, to say anything, but his throat betrayed him with a feeble stammer, "Um, this is…"

As Sweden approached him, Finland's stutter worsened, "I just … uh … I mean … well…"

The taller nation moved closer.

"W-what I'm t-trying to say is … please forget what you've just seen!"

Stopping right before him, the Swede's towering figure loomed over him. No word left the bespectacled nation's reticent mouth, but passion clearly lingered in those blue eyes.

Finland gulped.

After leaving the mug on the desk, Sweden scooped up the little seducer. He draped his arms over Finland's body, and then carried the smaller nation in his arms back to the bedroom. The Finn buried his flustered face on the other nation's burly chest. Perhaps seeing the continuation of his fantasy wouldn't be so bad after all.

THE END

* * *

[i] Idiot, can't you find a large tree? Go away! Don't you dare to come back until you bring a big log here, useless boy!

[ii] _Where am I? How long have I been sleeping? Who has brought me here? I want to thank him. _(Note: Tino thought it'd be more feasible for a man, rather than a woman, to carry his unconscious body.)

[iii] _It's an insulated, dead silent place that preserves nothing but bleakness and inhospitality. In this case, how can I return unto where I came from?'_

[iv] _The beast didn't need to declare if it wanted to eat me. Perhaps the 'eat' was a command. Am I supposed to eat the meat that is in the cave?_

[v] _'Thou'? Not even 'you'? Damn beast! Does it think mankind to be lesser beings than its race?_ "Yes, that was exquisite. What animal meat was it?"

[vi] "Oh, now I know how a bear tastes. Thank you."

[vii] "Why are you adept in human language? Did you use to live with humans before?"

[viii] "I'm astonished to learn that you eat like humans do. I wrongly assumed you'd devour your prey raw, while it was fresh or even alive."

[ix] "Humans aren't among my dietary menu."

[x] "Ah, truthfully, I'm surprised that you use those. I admit that actually I thought fire would come forth from your mouth."

[xi] _If I go past this path, I'll arrive at the village. Nevertheless, what's going to wait for me there? More chores from that hard-hearted drunkard?_

[xii] "Truth is, it seems to me how unfair it would be if I let you work alone for our meals."

For those who are not familiar with the _Bride of the Lindorm King_ tale, the village girl was supposed to be willing to become the lindorm's bride _after_ she sought the advice of either the spirit of her deceased mother or the soothsayer who once had told the queen about the onions (there are multiple versions). In my opinion, this is not exactly a pure, unconditional love because she was aware of the prince's identity. Therefore, in this story, Finland willingly offered himself to Sweden before knowing that the lindorm was actually a human.

The fic you read here is the censored version. To read the extra 1,7 K words of smutty scene, head to my AO3 account: archiveofourown dot org/users/IDetestTragedy or my tumblr account: skyblueultramarine (dot tumblr dot com)


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